What Should Never Be
by jojospn
Summary: A/U SPOILERS for 2x20, "What Is and What Should Never Be." What if Sam was the one to be attacked by the Djinn? Sam's life is perfect. Dean is a mechanic, his parents are alive, Sam is weeks away from graduation and is about to be married to Jess. But strange visions haunt him. And when tragedy strikes, Sam starts to wonder if this is the world he wants after all.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here's another attempt at a chapter fic. This one is inspired by "What Is and What Should Never Be" but with a twist. In this story we get to see Sam's perspective, as he is the one captured by the Djinn. I hope you enjoy! Thanks to all my supporters, you are amazing! Love and hugs! And as always, I do not own **_**Supernatural **_**or any of its characters. For entertainment purposes only.**

**Chapter 1**

Darkness. And then pale blue, shimmery light as the Djinn pressed elongated, bony fingers at Sam's forehead. The hunter's heart raced madly in his chest as he tried to free himself from the genie's grip, but it is to no avail. _Is this how I'm going to die,_ he asked himself miserably. _Alone, attacked by a fucking _genie, _for godssake!_. For a moment, an irrational thought comes to mind as he thought of the genie in _Aladdin._ He can just hear the snide remark: _Brought down by Robin Williams? You're slipping, Sammy!_

Dean. The fact that he was about to die alone is what bothered Sam the most. No big brother to comfort him, hold him as he slipped away. It was a stupid, reckless idea to hunt the damn thing alone, even with Dean laid up with a bum ankle. But people were dying, and Sam knew full well that if the situation had been reversed, Dean would have hauled his ass over to the abandoned warehouse a lot sooner than he had.

Dean. No, he couldn't give up. Not when his brother needed him, in so many ways. A sudden energy and need to fight back overwhelmed Sam, and his struggles became fiercer as he tried to pull away the creature's fingers. But by now it was too late. Eyes focused only on his prey, the Djinn slipped one cold, sinewy hand around Sam's throat and gently squeezed. _Oh hell no. _No way that some genie was going to take Sam down. He kicked his legs viciously, hoping to land one square in the creature's family jewels, but already the younger Winchester felt weakened as precious oxygen was cut from his body. He let out one last, poorly aimed kick as his body went slack, the Djinn finally claiming its prize.

XXX

Sam regained consciousness to a splitting headache, stiff muscles, aches all over his body. The typical results he was accustomed to when fighting of supernatural beings. What was not typical was lying in a soft, Queen sized bed in a visibly feminine master bedroom. Or the sight of his clothes, not the typical hunting outfit but the preppy stuff college boys sometimes wore, folded on the nearby chair. Or the sound of the shower running in the ensuite bath.

_What the hell? _Sam rubbed his temples gingerly, the sharp pain intensified by his sudden movements. Okay. It was obvious that the Djinn had done something; he had remembered reading something about how the creature somehow knew what your greatest wish would be. And Sam knew without a doubt what his wish had been, from the moment he was a young boy. Could it be? Was it possible…? Anxious, for fear that he was about to be horribly wrong, Sam pulled aside his covers, snooped around what was no doubt his bedroom. He had an idea who he was sharing it with, and the thought was so intense, so intoxicating, that Sam almost didn't want to confirm. It would only hurt too much to think that he had her back, especially after losing her in such a horrific way. But sure enough, a glance at a framed picture on his nightstand confirmed what his heart had been so desperately hoping for. Nestled within the glass was a picture of him and Jessica on the beach, no doubt taken just recently. Jess is dressed in a plain white bikini, her shades resting on top of wind tousled blonde curls, blue-green eyes sparkling. Beside her, Sam is grinning to the camera, a bottle of Lipton green tea iced tea in one hand, the other wrapped lovingly around Jessica's shoulders.

Jessica. His beautiful Jessica. Full of life, happy, _alive._ Sam felt a lump forming in his throat, overwhelmed by emotions. This was it. The life he had always wanted…

"Sam, shower's free."

And there, standing at the door with only a towel wrapped around her, stood Jess, running a hairbrush through her freshly shampooed hair. For a moment, Sam could only stare, the shock of seeing his dead girlfriend alive and well still not quite registering. And then, as the young woman gave him a rather quizzical look, Sam rushed to her, held her in his arms, eyes moist with tears.

"Sam, are you ok?" With a slightly nervous laugh. "I was only gone for a few days. I've been at my parents' place longer before." _Right. She has no idea that she's supposed to be dead. That she had burned alive before my very eyes almost two years ago._ Quickly regaining his composure, Sam pulled away, smiling somewhat sadly. "I know, just glad to see you that's all." He looked down, saw the diamond ring on her finger. He was engaged. Sam was marrying Jessica. The thoughts overwhelmed him, to the point where he pulled Jess into another hug, just to stable himself.

"Well, aren't we clingy this morning," Jess teased, planting a kiss on Sam's forehead. "Maybe I shouldn't be marrying you after all."

"Yeah, well…"

"Sam, are you sure you're ok? You look a little tired."

"Just a headache," Sam replied weakly. Man, he had never been as good at the impromptu as Dean was. As if to emphasize, he massaged his forehead gingerly, wincing at the sudden pressure. Jessica gave him a sympathetic look and brushed aside a lock of his far too long brown waves with a lover's gentle touch. "A hot shower will work wonders," she said, kissing him again. "Oh, and there's a bottle of Aspirin in the medicine cabinet, extra strength. Picked some up yesterday after work."

"Thanks." Sam smiled, for the first time that morning. By some miracle he had Jess back. The life he had worked so hard to get. A look of what seemed to be relief washed across Jessica's face, and Sam remembered that his behaviour must have been odd to her. To her, this was any other morning, with the same old routine as always. To Sam, this was waking up in a dream: a beautiful, incredibly vivid one, but a dream nonetheless. In fact, it terrified him that this really _was_ a trick of the subconscious. Hell, the last thing he remembered was being attacked by the Djinn, and suddenly he's…

No. He can't think that this isn't real. He _won't._ Sam quickly undressed and steps in the shower, closing his eyes in bliss as the hot water cascades along his shoulders. It had been a while since he had indulged in a luxury of a long, hot shower in someplace other than a skeevy motel. The water pressure was fantastic, the tub clean and best of all, tall enough to accommodate his towering frame. The perimeter of the shower is lined with sweet smelling bottles and shaving creams, and Sam recognized the bottle of Herbal Essences in the corner. Jess' favorite. In the other corner was a bottle of Sam's brand, and he smiled as he squeezed a small amount into his palm and massaged the creamy substance into his damp hair. _This is perfect. Can't wait to tell Dean…_

Dean. Sam froze as he thought of his brother. He had no clue where he was, what he did, if he was a hunter, or even if he was even alive. Could he have possibly come to a world without his brother? It was a miracle that Jess was back, but could be really be happy without his brother? Sam finished his shower in record time, dressed in his new wardrobe (jeans and a polo shirt) and rummaged through his things in desperate search for his cell phone. Down the hall he could hear Jess working away in the kitchen, the smell of coffee brewing and muffins baking in the oven making his mouth water. God, he had missed her cooking. Jess had always been baking things, cookies, scones, apple pies…

The thought of the pie reminded Sam of his task and he quickly located his cell phone. Praying that everything would be ok, he clicked on his contact list, and sure enough, DEAN was listed as the first one. Heart pounding in anticipation, he pressed dial and listened to the sound of the phone ringing on the other end.

"Hello." Kind of gruff, typical Dean greeting.

"Dean!" Sam could hardly contain the excitement in his voice. His brother was alive and well, thank God.

"Yeah." Slight confusion in his brother's voice. Of course. Only Sam was the newcomer in this strange world. According to Dean, and Jess, the younger Winchester had always been a player in this game. _He_ would be the one acting out of the ordinary. "What's up Sammy? Good thing you called when you did, in about five minutes I would've been out the door."

"Did you find a hunt?" The question slipped out without even thinking. And, as expected, there was a slight awkward silence at the other end of the line. "I know you're in California, dude, but it IS January here and I don't feel like dragging my ass in the woods looking for deer."

Deer. So Dean _wasn't_ a hunter. Hadn't even heard of the life, judging by his misinterpretation. Sam smiled in spite of himself. No family business. Which meant that Dad hadn't introduced them to hunting in the first place. Which meant…

Maybe their mother was alive.

"Sam, you ok? You seem a little off. Jess have a little too much fun last night? Jostled that big law school brain of yours?"

That was the Dean he knew.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Where are you, man?"

"Um, Lawrence." Sam could practically hear the _duh_ in his brother's voice. "Hate to let you go li'l bro but I'm about to be late for work. So what's the prob, man? Need a little advice with giving Jess a good time?"

Lawrence. Dean had a job in Lawrence. Sam couldn't believe his good fortune. It seemed that everything was falling into place, like a glove. Part of him was still skeptical (nothing is this perfect, after all) but Sam was still on a high from having his girlfriend back, his brother happy with a steady job, that the little bit of anxiety remaining was starting to ease.

"Sammy? You ok? You're sounding weirder than usual. And this coming from Wierdy McWeirderson."

"Huh? No, I'm fine man, just wanted to call and say hi. I'll let you go, man. Have a good one at work."

"Yeah, you too. I'll see you in a few weeks…"

"For…"

"Your wedding, Sam. Sheesh maybe someone slipped a little something in your drink last night?" There was genuine concern in Dean's voice and Sam made a mental note to just go with it next time. "Yeah, right. Guess I'm still tired. I'll see you then, man."

"Wouldn't miss my pain in the ass little brother's wedding for the life of me. Besides, whose gonna stand up there with you when you throw your life away? Nah, just kidding man." With a chuckle.

"Better be," Sam smiled. Getting married in two weeks with Dean has his best man. This was getting better by the minute. "Talk to ya later, bro."

Sam snapped the mobile device shut, tucking it in his jeans pocket. He scanned his surroundings one last time, vision slightly obscured by the moisture in his hazel eyes. If only he knew for sure that his parents were alive, everything would be perfect. But that, that was just too much to ask for. A father who would spend his afternoons practicing curve balls with his kids, who fired up the grill on special occasions, had a normal job instead of chasing monsters for a living; a mom who was very much alive, there for birthdays and graduations and prom night pictures. Who would soothe scraped knees with kisses and make her famous tomato rice soup when her sons were sick.

He had to know.

In the kitchen, Jess was humming some Disney song Sam remembered from….well, before. That one from _Pinocchio. _She had always had a soft spot for Disney. "Never too old to unleash your imagination," she had smiled when Sam questioned the fact that a girl in her twenties watched _Beauty and the Beast_ at least once a month. Sam remembered how he had found that cute, and had even endured the stuff for her. Now, watching Jess in jeans and a Stanford U t-shirt, a large apron tied around her waist, Sam smiled. The sound of "When You Wish Upon a Star" filled the tiny kitchen as Jessica stirred pancake batter and tossed a few blueberries in the mix. God, she was beautiful.

"You've got a smudge," Sam smiled, wiping a bit of flour off Jess's nose. The girl smiled, setting her bowl down long enough for a gentle kiss. "Labour of love for my future husband," she grinned. "Now sit down, these pancakes aren't going to cook themselves."

Sam swallowed nervously as he sat at the little kitchen table, watching as Jessica poured the batter over a smoking hot griddle. It was the moment of truth. He had to know if his parents were alive.

"So, Jess," nervously, picking at a fray in his jeans, a nervous habit he'd had since childhood. "Did we get the RSVP form Mom and Dad yet?"

"Why would they need to?" Jess turned, looking somewhat confused. "They're your parents. Of course they'll be there." She looked at Sam rather anxiously, forgetting about the pancakes until the kitchen suddenly began to fill with smoke. She didn't see Sam wince at the thought as memories of that horrible night flashed before him.

_. Jess is pinned above his bed, fear and horror in her blue-green eyes. She is dressed in a frilly white nightie, the one she had bought especially for Sam a few days before they had moved in together, the red from the gash in her abdomen contrasting with the white. Sam watches, frozen in terror, as Jessica's body bursts into flame, soon engulfing the tiny room. The heat is intense…_

"Sam? Are you sure you're ok?" The burning pancakes safely flipped, Jess is now leaning beside Sam, her eyes filled with concern. "You don't seem to be yourself this morning. Are you coming down with something? You always did study too hard."

"No, I'm fine." Sam smiled, gently rubbing a thumb against Jessica's cheek. "Just tired." _And relieved that Mom and Dad ARE alive and well. This is perfect. The life I've hoped and prayed for for years._

When you wish upon a star.

"Good. 'Cause I think the pancakes are still a little, uh, extra crispy." Sam laughed as Jess turned to the kitchen to attend to her burning breakfast. He heads to the coffee maker, pours a cup and watches as his girlfriend slides the pancakes on a platter, once again humming Disney tunes.

_Sam's head is lolling to the side, eyes closed. He appears to be unconscious. His hair is matted, face dirty and bloodied. _

Sam blinked, almost spilling his coffee. What the fuck was that? Did he just have a…a _vision_ of himself, out cold? Quickly he turns to Jess, whose back is still turned to him. Thank God for small mercies. The last thing he needs right now is for her to see him in this state. Hell, both she and Dean think that he's lost his marbles at the moment. Sam closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure. It was nothing. Probably just lack of sleep. Hell, he's been trying to convince that to Jess and Dean all day. By the time Jess has placed the pancakes, a side of bacon and a fresh muffin at his side, Sam had regained his composure.

It was nothing. It has to be. Taking a bite, Sam closed his eyes, pushing aside the horrible image that had just invaded his subconscious, potentially shattering his psyche. It was nothing. After all, he had everything back that he had always wanted. What could possibly go wrong?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: First I want to thank those who are following, reading, reviewing, etc. this story. Your response is amazing! Thanks to mandancie, LilyBolt and greyhoundredux for your reviews! And as always, I don't own **_**Supernatural,**_** just borrowing the boys (and I guess in this case, twisting plotlines). I am not making any profit from this.**

**Chapter 2**

Dean Winchester was not a patient man. Growing up, he had eagerly waited for his first hunt, first target practice, first drink. He had been inching on getting his hands on the Impala from the moment his dad had promised it to him on his eighteenth birthday. And he most definitely did not like waiting alone (especially with a bad ankle) when his kid brother should have been home hours earlier.

From the moment Dean had woken alone and noticed how long he'd been out, with no Sammy mother henning him nonstop, Dean's infamous "big brother" radar kicked in to overdrive. He'd guessed that he'd been asleep nearly ten hours, and he'd been awake on top of that an additional six after Sam had left for his hunt. He should have been back hours ago. The room looked as if it hadn't been touched, either, thus discounting the theory that he could have returned, found his older brother still dead to the world, and went off to pick up something to eat. No. Sam had not returned.

"Damn it, Sammy," Dean murmured, tossing aside his blankets. Slowly he limped to the small table where Sam's laptop still sat, closed, amidst piles of papers and other written research. Grimacing at a particularly sharp jolt, Dean sat on the uncomfortable wooden chair and powered up the device. The kid had said something about a Djinn before leaving, but admittedly, between exhaustion and pain meds, Dean had not really heard much. Now, scanning through his brother's search history, Dean regretted doping himself up. If his mind had been sharper, he might have been able to pinpoint his brother's location already, or at least have a general idea. He cursed again as he surfed the websites, hopefully to find something useful.

Fortunately, it didn't take too long to find the sources Sam had consulted. Yet another benefit of teaming with a hunter with a college education. "Thank God you're such a nerd, Geek Boy," he muttered affectionately to the empty room, as he read through the latest page on Djinns. They tended to prefer dark places, like caves or warehouses; fed off their prey for sometimes days, slowly draining the life from them until they eventually succumbed to malnutrition and/or blood loss; were killed by a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood; and tended to render their victims into a dreamlike state, a sort of euphoria that the victim doesn't necessarily want to give up.

"Shit." Thoughts of Jessica, a life without hunting, nagged at Dean's brain. Months after the young woman had died, Sam had been quiet, depressed, haunted by nightmares. He had always wanted to have a life without hunting, one with a law degree and Jessica by his side. Maybe a kid or two. If Sam were really trapped in that kind of life, would he want to leave? Would his bond to Dean be enough? He had to find Sam, and fast. No way was he going to lose his baby brother. Not after they were finally starting to rebuild their rocky relationship.

Not when he was finally getting his little brother back.

Dean scanned through the materials again, trying to think of a place nearby where the creature would most likely set up shop. He remembered an abandoned warehouse a few miles down the road; they had actually passed it on the way to their latest sleazy motel. That would be the best place to start his search. Trying to swallow the fear for his brother's life, Dean gathered his weapons and limped to the Impala. He had some lamb's blood (and a little brother) to find.

XXX

John and Mary Winchester arrived in Paulo Alto a few days after Sam's arrival in "Sam Winchester Pleasantville". He was ecstatic to be reunited with his parents, especially him mom; he had only really known the woman from pictures and the few times Dean had actually talked to him about her. Sharing personal memories was not exactly easy for Dean Winchester. When Mary stood before him, her green eyes shining (god, they're the exact emerald shade as Dean, Sam thought), he stood before her, staring rather awkwardly. John seemed taken aback by his son's reaction, but Mary only smiled, hugging him and planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. He could smell her perfume, the floral pattern he recognized as the one Dean had described to him on one of those rare heart to heart moments, could feel the softness of her fingertips as she brushed aside his long bangs form his eyes. "You need a haircut, Sammy," she teased, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Congratulations, baby! In a few weeks my son will be Samuel Winchester, Attorney."

Sam smiled. He liked the ring of that. Images of a nice office, not exactly the cushy ones DA's would have, but a nice, comfortable one, flashed before him. "You know it's not going to be over night, Mom." God, it sounded weird to be saying that, but it also sounded wonderful. He managed to hide the choke in his voice as he turned to his father, who was extending his hand. "Congratulations, Sammy," he grinned, pumping his hand in a firm shake. "I'm so proud of you, boy."

For a moment, Sam hesitated. This was not the John Winchester he knew. His father was the drill sergeant who drug him to weapons and fitness training, even when he would have rather curled up with a good book; the one who drunk himself into a stupor on more nights than he would care to imagine. The man whom he had been constantly arguing with, from the moment he was old enough to stand up for himself. Not this stranger. Not the man who was congratulating him on a law degree. John eyed him again, still rather confused, but fortunately, Sam regained his composure. "Thanks, Dad, that means a lot to me." _More than you'll ever know._

"Mary, I'm still behind in invitations. Would you mind giving me a hand while the boys catch up?" Jessica nodded to where John and Sam were talking, and Mary nodded. "Of course, dear. I remember how stressful it was sending those damn things out! And that was almost thirty years ago!" Jess laughed and led her mother-in-law to the kitchen, leaving the Winchester men alone. Sam didn't want to see his mother leave, could have spent hours just looking at her, storing every detail of the woman he had never had the chance to meet growing up. It took a lot of effort for him to keep from staring as she left the room. But fortunately, his self-control prevailed. He had a whole lifetime to become acquainted with his mother.

"So, how's Dean doing?" Sam had rehearsed this little conversation for days. The perfect way to fish for information without sounding out of place, or just off in general. With one simple question, he would know what his brother was doing, if his life was as happy as Sam's new one was. He hoped with all his heart that Dean was happy, had a family of his own. Just the fact that the Winchesters weren't hunters, or even know what the term meant, was proof enough that his brother's life couldn't be all that bad. He wanted Dean to be happy as much as he wanted _this,_ perhaps even more. The kid had never had a childhood, had spent it raising Sam like a son, and had been scrutinized by John Winchester's ever strict eye from the moment he was old enough to shoot a twelve gauge.

John accepted the beer he had had ready for his father with a smile of thanks and took a generous swig before continuing. "Dean's great," he said, and Sam felt his heart soar. "Super busy at the garage." (_Dean's a mechanic. What a perfect job for him!_) "He even got a promotion to assistant manager. Starts next pay period. Better hours, weekends off, better pay."

"That's great!"

"And Carmen are expecting in the winter. I wasn't supposed to spill the beans yet but Dean wanted me to tell you. Was Carmen's idea to keep it quiet, you know, in case something happens, but Dean's just bursting with pride. Wants a boy so he can name it Sammy. Knowing him, though, he'll call it Samantha if it's a girl."

Sam felt moisture forming from hazel eyes. Dean was in a steady relationship, had a great job, and was going to be a father! And the child would be named after him! That meant that he and Dean still shared their bond even in this life. It was perfect. _Too perfect._ He couldn't shake this feeling that this world seemed too good to be true. Nothing in life is this wonderful. Fuck, there was no possible way that Sam Winchester, the boy cursed at birth, the one his father had told Dean would possibly have to be killed to keep him from becoming evil, could possibly have the life of his dreams. Sam closed his eyes, trying to push away the negative thoughts. _Why not? Good things are bound to happen sometimes. Hell, maybe his life had still been shit earlier, and was now finally starting to pick up._

"Wow, that…I don't know what to say."

"That your happy for your older brother?"

"Of course. I mean, that he wants to name the baby after me. I..it's just, I don't know."

"Should've been after me if you ask me," John teased, playfully patting Sam on the back. God, this was _not_ the John Winchester Sam knew. "But you shouldn't be surprised, boy. You know Dean's been protective of you since the fire."

"The what…?" Their home had still burned down? Sam stared at his father, puzzled, finally unable to keep his guard up. John looked at Dean with a look of bewilderment. "Remember? You were six. Dean saved you from the house fire. Dean was babysitting while we went out to dinner. You were trapped in your room, too scared to come out."

Even in this universe Dean had saved him. No wonder they still shared that bond. Sam felt the tears threaten to actually fall, actually wiped them away with the back of one hand. He drew a few deep breaths to regain his composure before continuing. "Yeah, I remember that now. Guess I kind of repressed that memory."

"I wish your brother had," John sighed. "Poor kid had nightmares for months after. Kept screaming out for you in his sleep. Surprised that you only had one or two, to be honest."

Sam nodded, downed a quarter of his beer to try to calm down. It was overwhelming, information overload. He nodded his head, muttered a simple "yeah," and gently began to steer the conversation away from big brothers who saved little brothers from house fires. _I guess some things never change,_ he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for all the amazing support you guys have for this story! I'm honoured that you are all enjoying my twist on WIAWSNB! I want to thank deanstheman, LilyBolt, a guest, and mandancie for the reviews! And not to worry, the action picks up! And as always, I don't own **_**Supernatural,**_** just borrowing the boys! **

**Chapter 3**

_The air is damp, and Sam shivers from the chill. He is standing in some dark area, perhaps a cave or a sewer, what exactly he doesn't know for sure. He can hear the drip of a leaky pipe, water splashing, the sound echoing in the stillness. It's too quiet, Sam thinks as he slowly penetrates through the inky blackness, only a weak flashlight beam guiding him. With each footstep, a greater sense of foreboding envelops him, and he can't help but feel a horrible sense of deja-vu. _I've been here before,_ he thinks, as he shines the beam into different crevices and corners. He can't quite place it, but he _knows_ this place. And then, before his very eyes, an apparition materializes before him, of a young woman, dressed in fuzzy blue sleep pants emblazoned with penguins and a white tank top. Her chestnut curls are matted; face ashen and caked with dirt, brown eyes pleading. Her lips are moving, but no words come out. Sam calls out to her, but the apparition vanishes before he can hear a reply._

Sam woke up with a jolt, heart pounding, damp with sweat. Ever since he had arrived in his new life, Sam had been haunted by strange dreams. At first, they were of his brother, calling out for him, panic in his voice. Others, like this past nightmare, involved him roaming in some strange, dark location, as if searching for something, but not quite knowing what to look for. And then there were the sudden glimpses he saw while he was still awake, brief images of himself, looking like death warmed over. Those were the ones which disturbed him the most. Made him wonder if this new life of his was real or simply a twisted game, someone's idea of a sick joke.

And at first, Sam had truly believed that his new life wasn't real. After all, he was a Winchester. That alone was enough for anyone to believe that this was too good to be true. That at any moment, someone was going to take it all away, like the mean spirited adult who snatched the proverbial candy from the baby. But days turned to weeks, and Sam had graduated from Stanford Law. His entire family was there: his mom, dad, Jessica, Dean and his girlfriend. Sam closed his eyes, remembering the moment he had crossed the stage, in cap and gown, accepting his law degree while Jessica and Dean cheered, Mary cried, and John just stood there with this huge grin plastered on his face. No, it wasn't normal. And yes, it probably was a wish concocted by the Djinn. But his family was happy, together, _alive. _He was going to be married in a week; he was going to be an uncle. Maybe it was just a fantasy. But it was a dream come true.

And he was definitely going to take advantage of it.

But dreams like this, dreams of strange girls and his brother's haunting pleas, were enough to cause cracks in Sam's perfect new life. Not enough for Sam to want to leave, but they were unsettling nonetheless. He sighed as he slumped back down on the bed, glanced over at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was only 6AM. Jess wouldn't be up for another few hours. Perfect time for a run. Quiet, so as not to disturb her, Sam slunk out of bed, changed into sweats and sneakers, and headed out into the darkness, relishing in the cool early morning air. He ran until the dawn began to peak from beneath the horizon, casting beautiful shades of azure among the landscape. It felt good to be running again, to feel the blood pumping and his legs burning, the cool breeze against his damp cheeks and ruffling his hair. By the time he came home, Jess was up, reading the morning newspaper and nursing a mug of coffee. Sam smiled at her, kicking off his sneakers and reaching for the pot for his own cup. God, she was beautiful, even with bed head and dressed in her Pepto pink housecoat and matching fuzzy slippers.

_Sam, dressed in a suit, walks to Jessica's grave, a bouquet of spring flowers in his hand. "You always said roses were lame," he says through his tears as he gently places the bouquet at the foot of the marker. The sun shines, a contrast to the darkness in Sam's heart as he runs a thumb on the framed photo of Jess engraved in the stone._

"Sam, are you ok?" Jess looked up at her fiancé, concerned. Sam had been staring into space, a look of pain in his hazel eyes. Quickly, he blinked, gulped down some of the hot liquid as a distraction and made a face upon realizing how hot it was. "Yeah, I'm fine," he nodded, sitting down next to her. "Just had a really bad nightmare last night, that's all."

"Another one? Sam, I'm worried about you. You've been having nightmares almost every night for the past two weeks."

"No, I'm fine."

"You better be," Jess teased, trying to hide the concern in her voice. "Because I don't want you having any nightmares on our wedding night." She smiled at him, winked, before getting up and rummaging through the cupboards. "French toast sound fine? I don't know about you but I'm starving!"

XXX

Dean must have broken a record collecting a jar of lamb's blood, bad ankle or otherwise. Fortunately, the brothers' motel was not too far from the city limits, and a twenty minute drive in an easily stolen Honda Civic through the Illinois countryside was rewarded by a secluded farm. It bothered Dean to have to kill a living creature, but to save Sammy? It was no contest. It bothered him further to have wasted those twenty minutes in search of the much needed commodity, but finally, an hour later, he was standing before the warehouse he hoped with all his heart his brother was being held. He hated blindly guessing like that. If he was wrong and Sam wasn't in that warehouse, those twenty minutes spend finding the lamb's blood would have been nothing in comparison to the time wasted on searching an abandoned location. But Dean Winchester was smart; years of hunting, of his father's training, was enough to convince him that he _wasn't _wrong. And sure enough, a quick sweep of his flashlight was rewarded by a familiar looking Kansas plate. So Sam _was_ here. Thank God his instincts had been spot on.

Now all he had to do was find his little brother. Resisting the urge to bolt right in, Dean dipped his weapon in a generous amount of lamb's blood, switched on his flashlight, slowly made his way into the warehouse, trying to ignore the sharp pain shooting up his leg, eyes peeled for any sight of the Djinn. The damn place was huge, Dean thought miserably. It could take quite a while to conduct a thorough search of the perimeter. And Sammy might not have hours. Swallowing the fear for his brother's safety, Dean carefully pushed the heavy door open and limped into the building. Once inside, he was greeted by nothing; a vast, empty space, about 900 square feet, the cement floor covered in water stains. Along the wall, several doorways peppered the room, each one causing further dread to the young man. Dean cursed inwardly at the sight. The more rooms, the greater the odds of choosing the wrong door and increasing the time spent in searching. Time that Sam could very well not have. Not to mention more places for the damn creature to play hide and seek.

"Sonofabitch," he murmured, heading toward Door Number One and praying that he wasn't making the worst decision of his life by taking it.

The door lead to a narrow corridor, fortunately without any further rooms to search. _Fewer places for the damn Djinn to hide, too, _Dean thought as he swept his flashlight along the walls, ever alert for the sound of footsteps in the distance. Nothing. It was eerily quiet. Unnerved, Dean continued his journey along the seemingly never ending corridor, until finally it opened up into another, smaller room. Dean was not prepared for what he was about to see as he scanned the perimeter with his flashlight. Dozens of people, of all genders and ages, were hanging from the ceiling, supported by thick ropes secured around their wrists. Each one was hooked up to a makeshift IV, the needle protruding from the jugular. Most were dead, but a few managed a few weak moans, among them a young woman with dark brown hair, who looked to be in her mid to late twenties. She recognized the newcomer, opened her mouth to speak but only faint moans escaped from beneath her throat. Dean watched, heart breaking, wishing he could help this young woman. But he had to find Sam. He was probably strung up just like the poor girl was…the thought made him physically ill.

"Help me…" the girl finally croaked, eyes fluttering before sliding shut. Dean watched, stomach threatening to empty itself of that day's lunch, horrified at the dying woman. It was the Winchester motto to save humans from the supernatural baddies which inhabited the continental United States and beyond, but Dean also knew that Sam would always be his number one priority. _Protect Sam._ He could hear his father's voice echoing in his brain, a constant reminder of his mission. It was an order issued from the moment he had carried his baby brother out of his burning home, and one he would never abandon until he drew his final breath. And as much as it hurt him to leave the poor woman at the mercy of the Djinn, he knew that if anything had happened to his younger brother, he would never forgive himself.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, gently touching the young woman's arm. Her skin was clammy, cold to the touch; she didn't react, having succumbed to unconsciousness, and once again Dean felt nauseous. "I'll come back for you and everyone else. I promise." Resisting the urge to vomit, Dean limped further along in the darkness, trying to ignore his repulsion at the creature as he passed its other victims, in various states of consciousness, all hanging from what seemed like meat hooks like slaughtered cattle. Sam was most likely among the victims, likely dead or on the brink of death. "No," Dean muttered as he shone the beam into the faces of the victims, the pale light casting an eerie glow. He couldn't think it. He wouldn't just give up on Sam like that. Not when he was the only one he had left.

"Hold on, Sammy, I'm coming," Dean muttered, wincing as he felt white hot pain shooting up his leg, having temporarily forgotten about his injured ankle. Cursing inwardly, he continued along in the darkness, dreading what he might possibly find. Because it was very likely that somewhere amidst those captured by the Djinn, his little brother was slowly bleeding to death. And for the first time, Dean was terrified that he, his kid brother's hero, would be too late.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Just a quick thank you to mandancie and LilyBolt for their recent reviews. I'm so thrilled that you are all enjoying this story! And as always, I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters.**

**Chapter 4**

"Hey, head's up." Sam grinned as Dean tossed an ice cold bottle of El Sol at his direction, which automatically became a slight bitch-face when the slick bottle nearly slid from his fingers onto the porch. Dean chuckled, popping open the top and taking a generous swig as he settled on one of the cheap plastic lawn chairs Carmen had picked up on sale at the Home Depot. "Good thing you caught that, dude. Can't have the porch stink like beer or Carmen'll be on my ass." He picked at the paper label on the bottle, grinning boldly. "She's already pissed that she had to give up the beer for the kid."

"I somehow think she'll live," Sam answered as he opened his own bottle and swallowed a mouthful. "The end result will make it worth it in the end."

"I know." Dean suddenly became solemn as he stared out into the street, nearly quiet except for a few kids playing ball hockey at the end of the cul du sac. "It's really something, huh Sammy? I'm gonna be a dad. Some days I'm so freaking excited and others, I'm scared shitless. I mean, think about it. Five years back I was still this wild womanizer, had no intentions of settling down. And now I'm gonna have a kid of my own. Not sure if I'm ready."

"Sure you're ready." For a moment, Sam almost slipped it out: _you raised me while Dad was out all the time. _He had learned in bits and pieces how Dean had always been close to him in this universe, just as he had in his other life, but he had never taken the majority of the responsibility raising him this time around. But he did know of how his brother had saved his life in that house fire, just as he had carried him out as an infant in that other life, the one that seemed to be millennia in the past. "You'll be a great dad," he said instead. "You were awesome with me as a kid, even saved me from that fire, remember? And I'm only your pain in the ass brother." Dean snorted, continued to watch as one little boy of about nine shot a rubber ball into the goalie's net, arms raised in celebration of the goal. "Yzerman scores! And the crowd goes wild!"

"How about you?" Dean abruptly changed the subject. Guess some things never change. "Last night of freedom, kiddo. Tomorrow you're a married man. Gotta do something totally wild tonight. Thinking strip club."

Sam laughed, again amused by just how similar Pleasantville Dean and Hunter Dean was in that respect. For a moment he felt a pang of something (regret? Loss?) but immediately pushed them aside. Tomorrow he would be married to Jess, something he had dreamed of for years; an opportunity he was afraid had been lost forever that horrible November night. He shuddered, and Dean shot him a quizzical look. "You ok, man? Getting cold feet? 'Cause I would totally understand if you did. Carmen and I are happy just the way we are without the whole church and cake thing."

"No," Sam replied absently, following Dean's example and picking at his own dampened label on the beer bottle. "Just surprised that I've made it this far, that's all."

Dean shot his brother another odd look, and then finished his beer, letting out a faint belch. Sam rolled his eyes in mock disgust. "Dude, you're disgusting, you know that?"

"And you're a walking encyclopedia of weird but I don't hold it against you." Dean grinned as he got up and headed back to the kitchen. "Want another one?"

XXX

It was what he had always wanted; standing at the front of the church, handsome in his dark suit and the single yellow rose in his lapel. Beside him, Dean looked handsome in his own matching suit, grinning from ear to ear as he stood before his brother, waiting for the bride to make her grand entrance. He had always wanted this for Sammy, from the moment his parents had brought him home from the hospital. It would always be his job to make sure the kid was happy, to keep him safe, even though his parents had more than loved and provided for the both of them growing up. Ever since that November night, the night he had saved his six-year-old brother from their home, he had felt this protectiveness towards his kid brother. And from that moment on, the kid (not a kid anymore, but a tall, proud young man, a freaking _lawyer_) had always looked up to him, sometimes even before their parents.

And now Sammy was finally getting married. Dean couldn't help but let out a teasing smile when Sam's eyes grew misty the moment the church doors swung open and Jessica, beautiful in her simple, lace gown and misty veil, began her walk down the aisle, her arms laden with orchids, dahlias and calla lilies. Beside him, Sam felt a tightening in his throat as she slowly made her way to the altar, arm in arm with her father, blinking back tears of happiness. This was it. The day he had never thought he would actually see. When she finally joined her hand in his, looking up at him with adoring blue-green eyes, Sam felt his heart nearly burst with love and joy. "I love you," he whispered as the priest began the ceremony, and Jessica smiled with a twinkle in her own misty eyes. "I know," she whispered back.

The rest of the ceremony was a blur, and before Sam knew it, the priest announced that it was time to kiss the bride. To Jessica's surprise, Sam swept in her in his arms and kissed her as passionately as he dared in a church, with a hunger he had not experienced in years. Dean whooped appreciatively, chuckling at how "excited" his baby brother seemed to be, and Mary shook her head in slight embarrassment. But Sam didn't notice or care. When he finally pulled his bride away, he felt a lightness that he had never had in years, a freedom that years of hunting had denied him. And when he led Jessica out of the church, amidst the confetti and cheers from the guests, Sam Winchester at last began to believe that he had finally found home.

XXX

"Are you ready, Mr. Winchester?"

Sam grinned as he watched his wife (god, he loved the sound of that on his tongue) handed him a glass of champagne, dressed in a simple red negligee, her hair cascading along her shoulders. Nothing too ostentatious for Jessica Moore (no, Sam corrected himself with a grin, Jessica _Winchester_), she had never been one for the fancy stuff from Victoria's Secret. But it was enough to whet his desire. She looked beautiful in anything she wore, even the old jeans and paint speckled sweatshirts she wore when working on her latest work of art. Sam took a small drink from his glass, and set it aside on the dresser. No need for it when there were other things to do.

"More than ready, Mrs. Winchester." Jess giggled and pulled Sam close. "I like the sound of that," she whispered into his ear. "Might just get you to say that every day." She began to nibble gently on his ear, her own champagne forgotten, pulling Sam onto the bed. He fumbled to unbutton his dress shirt while Jess worked on the snap on his jeans, allowing them to slide gently on the carpet. "I know it's clichéd," she murmured, "but it _is_ our wedding night, after all. May as well take advantage of it."

Sam grinned as she felt his bride's fingers gently massage his chest, her full lips softly kissing his neck and shoulder. Sam looked into her eyes hungrily, not wanting to indulge in foreplay, but waited patiently as Jessica began to softly kiss his chest. After a few minutes, however, he could hardly stand it. "Jess," he moaned, and she giggled softly. "I forgot. You always were so impatient." Slowly Sam pulled down the straps of the negligee and Jessica stepped out of it, tossing the garment aside. She sighed in pleasure as she allowed Sam inside her, felt his strong hands running through her hair and along her back. He kissed her passionately, thrusting his hips, enjoying her moans of pleasure like a powerful drug. "Oh, god," she moaned, and Sam felt his heart hammering in his chest. He had made love to her a few times since he had made his way into this new universe, but nothing had been intense as this moment, to see the intensity in her eyes and the sounds of pleasure escaping from beneath her throat. And when she climaxed, her body rigid in the grip of the powerful orgasm, Sam delighted to hear her cry out his name: "SAM!"

Sam looked down at his new wife, and his hazel eyes widened in horror. For instead of Jessica looking up at him, Sam found himself staring into the eyes of the brunette from his dream, soft chocolate irises fading as the life drains from her body; but they are aware, pleading with him to help, begging for mercy. Sam recoiled back in horror, almost falling of the bed in his fright. This can't be true. This is Jess, his Jessica, his wife. Why the fuck was he seeing this girl everywhere?

"Sam?" Jess looked up in confusion and fear at her husband's sudden behavior. "Sam, honey, what's wrong?" She climbed from the bed, fumbling with the sheets, searching for something, _anything_,to cover herself. It bothered her that she felt the need to clothe herself around him, but his sudden behaviour had unnerved her greatly; and it frightened her that maybe Sam wasn't as all right as he claimed to be.

"No, I'm fine," Sam lied, stepping hastily into his boxers and reaching for his jeans. _As if seeing your wife morph into some half dead chick is normal._

"No, Sam, you're not. You've been acting strange for the past month. I'm just worried about you, that's all." She looked up at him, eyes full of concern and bright with tears. She loved Sam with all her heart, but she had hoped that his odd behavior would have ended after the wedding. _Looks like that's not happening. _Sam, finally starting to calm down from his fright, settled down on the bed beside her, massaging his temple. He could feel a massive headache coming on. They sat in silence for a few moments, Sam struggling to come up with some reasonable explanation for his sudden behaviour and coming up with absolutely nothing. How could you possibly explain to your wife that you were seeing the image of some random ghost chick while fucking her? Crazy didn't even _begin_ to describe it.

"I, well, I guess…"

Jess placed a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder, smiled faintly at him. "I won't tell you I like it," she said slowly, "but I will tell you that whatever it is, I'm here to help. You know you can trust me, Sam, right?"

"With my life. I trust you as much as I trust Dean."

"And if you two weren't brothers and I knew you both like the back of my hand I'd be totally creeped out by that," Jessica laughed slightly. "All I'm saying is I'm here. If you need something, just ask."

Sam nodded, gave Jess a small kiss on the forehead. She was right; she _did_ have a right to know. But he couldn't say anything, not just yet. For one, he was just as freaked out as Jessica was; and for another, there was only one other person in the world who could possibly understand, even in this alternate universe.

He had to talk to Dean.

**Secondary A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and my first attempt at a sex scene. I tried not to overdo it! A little happier initially but had to add a bit of angst after all! Hope you enjoyed!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: First of all I want to thank mandancie, LilyBolt and deanstheman for their recent reviews. As always, you guys are awesome and I really appreciate the time you guys take to share your thoughts. And as always, I don't own **_**Supernatural**_** but am just borrowing the boys for entertainment purposes only. **

**Chapter 5**

"So, let me get this straight. You were banging Jessica and you get this –uh, _vision_ of some random chick?" Dean and Sam were sitting in a back corner booth at a local diner, nursing cups of coffee while waiting for their breakfasts to arrive. It was fairly late in the day, the breakfast rush having come and gone, and the restaurant was mercifully quiet, the odd customer having shared Dean's belief that early mornings were not meant to be spent anywhere but in a warm, comfy bed. Sam, normally a morning person, had agreed to the late breakfast idea, knowing full well that the place wouldn't be busy. He couldn't risk anyone else hearing about his crazy story. And now, seeing the skepticism and what looked like worry in Dean's eyes, Sam was beginning to regret telling even his older brother about his experience. He knew that the story was crazy, what Dean would probably refer to as "Dingo ate my baby" crazy, but if anyone would listen to him it would be his big brother.

And now, sitting across from him in the dingy booth, his barely touched cup of coffee rapidly cooling in front of him, Sam nervously waited to hear what Dean was about to say. Sure enough, the elder Winchester had been more than a little upset to hear of Sam's visions, or whatever they were, but fortunately, he hadn't written him off as fucked up or batshit crazy. That was something, at least. But he didn't look like Sam was completely with it, either. Not exactly a comforting thought.

"Yeah, that about sums it up." The waitress chose that time to arrive with their breakfasts, setting a fat omelet with bacon, toast and homemade pan-fries with onions before him and a short stack of pancakes with a side of sausage in front of Dean. He looked up at the kindly woman and smiled in thanks, watching as Dean flirted with the comely young redhead with a subtle wink and smile of his own. Again, it sometimes surprised Sam to see how similar this Dean was from the Dean of his past life, a life that he sometimes forgot had even existed. A life that at moments he doubted had even happened in the first place.

Once the server was safely out of earshot, Sam continued the conversation, nibbling at a toast point while Dean poured a liberal amount of syrup on his pancakes. "I know it doesn't make sense, but I'm not making this up. It scares the hell out of me, Dean. One moment everything's fine, and suddenly this image of this girl just pops into my brain. Like she's trying to tell me something, and I just can't seem to understand her." Ok, the moment of truth. Sam watched nervously as Dean chewed on his pancakes thoughtfully, swallowing it down with a mouthful of coffee. Taking his time answering him; probably trying to come up with something to say that wouldn't sound like he thought his brother should be in a psych ward.

"Well," Dean finally continued, "if I know one thing about my baby brother, it's that he would never make up shit as crazy sounding as that" (Sam cringed slightly at what seemed like a back door compliment but wisely said nothing). "If you say you're going all Haley Joel then I believe you." Sam sighed in relief. Maybe Dean thought he had lost his marbles, but at least he wasn't dismissing him completely. "So whatever it is, I'm here to help. You know that, right? And from what you tell me, Jess seems to understand too."

"Yeah, she's upset but she's been handling it well." Sam sighed, recalling the events following the latest vision. The two had sat on their bed for hours, and had, in fact, said very little. But Jess, rubbing his back the same way Dean had done to comfort him when he was little, had reassured him that they were in this together, and that she would stand by him regardless. _Great way to start our marriage, huh,_ Sam had told her and she had smiled gently, pulling him close. "If I gave up on you after one night I wouldn't exactly be playing fair, now would I?" But Sam could tell that she was nervous, terribly afraid that Sam would still be having these strange images haunting him, and at times as equally awkward. He couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for her to have him recoil in horror from her during intimacy. To begin to believe how hurt and confused she must have been. It had to stop now. Even if telling his older brother about it made him sound fit to be sent to the loony bin.

"Well, Jess is an amazing woman. You have excellent taste, Sammy."

Sam chuckled faintly, picking at his breakfast. "You must think I'm nuts."

"I think that something is obviously bugging you, but no, I don't think you're insane. Unless you count six years of university to be a freaking lawyer rational," he grinned, and Sam playfully rolled his eyes. "But all kidding aside, let me know the next time you get a flash or whatever. I'm still not sure what this is about but we'll think of something."

"Thanks." Now that the awkward conversation was over, Sam could feel his appetite returning. As he shoved a forkful of egg and stuffing in his mouth, he once again thanked his lucky stars or whatever shit you wished on that he had Dean for an older brother. And for the first time since the disturbing flash, he felt confident that he really _would_ get better. That maybe there was still hope for him.

XXX

The pain in Dean's ankle intensified with each step, but the hunter ignored the fire in his leg as he made his way further along the dark walkways and crevices. Sam had to be in here somewhere, he had seen the Impala parked outside, for goddsake, but as the minutes passed and there was still no sign of his younger brother, Dean began to feel that horrible, gut wrenching terror take over. _No. Can't be scared. Need to focus. Freaking out's not gonna help find Sammy._ Swallowing his fear, Dean continued his search, shining his flashlight in all corners, hoping to find his brother alive and relatively well. The beam reflected on the faces of the other victims (so many, Dean thought, horrified), all in various stages of death, dying, and decay. One man, who seemed to be in his late thirties or early forties, stared down with unseeing grey eyes, his face swollen and bloated. Obviously he had been one of the Djinn's earlier victims. Dean reeled back, the stench of decomposing flesh once again threatening to make Dean vomit. Determined not to lose composure he continued his search, eyes peeled for the familiar tan jacket and mop of dark brown hair.

It was another ten minutes before Dean finally found him. Sam was hanging limply from above, face streaked with grime and sweat. His face lolled loosely to the side, like a rag doll; hazel eyes closed. He looked still, _too_ still, hanging limply from the ceiling and virtually unresponsive to his brother's arrival. Not a good sign.

"SAMMY!" Knowing that screaming would more than likely call attention to him, and not caring in the least. Because if his brother was…gone (he couldn't bring himself to even _think_ of the alternative), then Dean Winchester didn't really care if he became the Djinn's next victim. Heart pounding, Dean pulled out the IV in his brother's throat, trembling hands feeling for a pulse; he didn't know whether to be relieved or horrified to find one, but weak and unsteady. He chose to be grateful, repeating "thank God" over and over in his brain, as if those words alone would be enough to save his brother.

"It's ok, Sammy, I'm here. I'm here, little brother," Dean murmured, sawing at the ropes that secured his brother. They were thick, and it took several saws with his knife before the fibres finally snapped and Sam fell limply into his arms. "I gotcha," he murmured, allowing himself a moment to assess his brother. Though seriously dehydrated and probably suffering from some form of malnutrition, Sam seemed to have few physical injuries, other than the odd superficial scrape and bruise, no doubt from when he had been defending himself. But Dean knew of the hidden dangers, and that Sam was nowhere near out of the woods yet. He had to get him out of here, back to the motel, or possibly even a hospital. "Ok, Gigantor, let's go." No response to the teasing, Dean's desperate attempts at some form of normalcy, and the elder Winchester felt a lump rising in his throat. _No,_ he told himself harshly, _not now. You need to haul ass out of here. No time for this self-pity shit. _Nodding to himself, Dean lifted his brother (so light, he noted in horror) in his arms and limped back to the exit, praying that his luck would hold out at least for a little longer and he'd avoid running into the Djinn.

His luck ran out.

Not five minutes after rescuing Sam, Dean heard what sounded like footsteps behind him. "Shit," he muttered to himself, tightening his grip on his blood covered knife. Carefully Dean swept the perimeter with his flashlight, eyes peeled for any sight of the mystical creature, but finding nothing. But Dean had been trained by John Winchester, and was not about to let his guard down any time soon. That fugly was no doubt scoping the joint, well aware of the disadvantages Dean had: a bum ankle, and an unconscious kid brother. "You can wake up any time, Sammy," he muttered, adjusting his brother's weight and trying not to wince at the pain in his ankle. Of course, Sam said nothing, not even a low moan, which frightened Dean more than he would care to let on. His little brother must be in worse shape than he had thought.

"Hang in there, kiddo, just a bit longer, ok? I'm getting us out of here, I promise. That's what…."

Dean was suddenly interrupted by thin, bony hands grabbing at his arm; Sam began to slide to the floor and the hunter tried in vain to adjust his grip, only to be thrown against the concrete himself. The Djinn stood before him, a look of pure hatred in his icy blue eyes, ready to strike. And for the first time since the fire that killed Jessica (and nearly claimed his little brother in the process) Dean felt fear, not for his life, but for Sam's. Because if he were to die, to be trapped in some dream state, there would be no one to save his younger brother. _Protect Sammy._ Again his father's gruff voice echoed through Dean's brain like a record on repeat.

The Djinn's fingers were now tightening around Dean's throat, cutting off his air supply like a knife snapping through a rope. Gasping for breath, Dean struggled to keep his grip on the blade's handle, afraid that his diminishing air supply would force him to drop it. And even as his vision began to fade, lungs burning as he struggled to draw breath, Dean's thoughts were only for his brother.

_I'm sorry, Sammy._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: A big thank you to mandancie, LilyBolt, samfanmc and deanstheman for your latest reviews! Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review, it makes my day! Thank you also to those who have read, favorited and/or followed this too, it means so much to me! And as always, I don't own **_**Supernatural,**_ **just borrowing the Winchesters! :) **

**Chapter 6**

The Djinn's fingers were now tightening around Dean's throat, cutting off his air supply like a knife snapping through a rope. Gasping for breath, Dean struggled to keep a grip on the blade's handle, afraid that his diminishing air supply would force him to drop it. And even as his vision began to fade, lungs burning as he struggled to draw breath, Dean's thoughts were only for his brother.

_I'm sorry, Sammy._

No. Not like this. Dean Winchester was a lot of things: a ladies' man, a fast food junkie, a ticking time bomb of repressed emotions, but _not_ a quitter. And it scared him that he had been about to give up, to let that damned creature get the better of him. _Not on my watch, you sonofabitch._ With a newfound strength, Dean tightened his grip on the knife's handle and stabbed the creature in the throat. Instantly its grip around Dean's own neck loosened as the creature instinctively drew a hand to the wound, eyes widened in surprise. And just like that, the Djinn slipped to a heap on the floor, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

But Dean didn't notice, or care. His sight was immediately set on his brother, who was still lying in a heap on the floor, still out cold. _Fuck, this goddamned ankle._ Dean cursed to himself as a new wave of agony flared up his leg, enough to make him want to throw up for the third time in forty minutes. But physical pain was nothing compared to how much losing Sam would be. _Ok, Winchester, just don't black out, ok?_ The inner dialogue seemed to help, and Dean once more picked up his limp younger brother and continued to the exit, praying that the dead Djinn had been on a solo job, or if he wasn't, that his pals were having a late supper.

Fortunately, luck held out, and Dean was able to carry the unconscious Sam to the safety of the Impala. "Hang in there, little bro, you'll be fine." More to reassure himself, Dean realized as he shoved the keys in the ignition; the old muscle car roared to life, and Dean shifted it into gear, steering back to the motel and pulling out his cell phone. He couldn't physically help those still trapped by the Djinn, but at least he could send help on the way. "God, hope they don't find our little friend, too," he joked, more to ease the fear in his heart as he tore along the lonely highway back to the motel. He had to wise crack; because he was deathly afraid that if he didn't he would break down right there in the Impala, his unconscious, and possibly dying baby brother at his side. And he couldn't lose his cool. Not now. Not when Sam's life was at stake.

_Watch out for Sammy…_

"FUCK!" He shouted the curse nearly at the top of his lungs, and the Impala swerved a little into the other lane. Quickly Dean righted the car, drew a few deep breaths. He needed to calm down if he had any chance of saving his brother. _Okay, that's it. Sam's gonna be fine. You've both been in worse messes before, everything is gonna be fine…_

But Dean Winchester was terribly afraid that everything _wasn't_ going to be fine. He had checked Sam's pulse after killing the Djinn, and it was dangerously week and thready. That had been about half an hour ago. Eyes still peeled to the road, Dean gave another quick check and was relieved to find that there was no change. Perhaps he had a chance to save his brother after all. "Almost there, kiddo," he murmured, more to reassure himself as he closed the distance between the warehouse and the motel. "Don't go making me look like a liar, ok? You need to hang in there 'cause there's no way in hell I'm doing all that research by myself."

After what seemed like hours (but was, in fact, only about ten minutes) Dean finally pulled to a stop in front of the motel and shifted the Impala into park. Praying to the God he wasn't sure he believe in that his brother was still with him, he flung open the driver's door, barely remembering to close it behind him, and hurried as quickly as his injury could allow to his brother' side. Another check of his pulse; he was still with him. "Thank God you're as stubborn as I am, Sammy." Carefully he lifted the unconscious man from the passenger seat and limped inside the motel, relieved to finally be in a place where he could actually treat his little brother. Sam was as unresponsive as ever when Dean carefully laid him on his bed, making a mental list of his symptoms. No cuts, so he could rule infected wounds from the list. What he did need was a blood transfusion. Once again thanking whatever the hell was out there for sharing the same blood type as his brother, Dean quickly gathered and sterilized the needed materials and gently inserted the IV needle in his brother's arm. He threatened to choke up as he remembered how terrified of needles Sam was, but pushed the tears back as he secured the instrument with medical tape. _No time for that shit now, Winchester._ Fighting the fear that threatened to overtake him, Dean inserted the make shift IV into his own arm, taping it secure awkwardly with one hand. Now all he could do was wait. As Dean lay on the bed beside his brother, watching as his own blood trickled into his brother's veins, he held the kid's hand, desperately hoping that Sam would wake up.

XXX

It felt more than a little odd watching his brother leaf through volume after volume on ancient deities and spirits. Dean had always known that his kid brother had been kind of a nerd, and had spent many of his free periods at Stanford pouring through text after text, even during Spring Break and holidays. It had actually gotten to the point where Jess had put her foot down, wanting to actually spend some time with her then boyfriend. But the books in question were usually about martial law, case periodicals, or (during his undergrad) psych articles and even copies of _Moby Dick_ for English Lit. But after briefly glancing at the titles his kid brother was selecting, Dean had begun to feel more than a little uncomfortable.

"Uh, Sam, what are you looking for?"

"Stuff on Djinns."

"Gin? Wouldn't you have better luck at the liquor store?"

Sam rolled his eyes, his fingers still deftly flipping the pages as he searched for the correct chapter. "Not gin, Dean, Djinn. They're like a genie, from Islamic traditional mythology. Been around for possibly years before even Biblical time. They tend to live in dark, unclean places like graveyards, caves, that kind of thing."

"Okay, crazy genie guy who likes dark places. Where are you going with this, Poindexter?"

Sam sighed inwardly. Even in this universe. "Point is, these guys tend to grant wishes to those it captures, great wealth, love, what have you."

"And?..." Dean had been looking over his shoulder, staring at the sepia toned image on the page before him. A man with a seemingly buff chest and pale skin stood before him, arms folded and staring coldly ahead. "Looks more like He-Man or Mr. Clean to me," Dean joked and Sam playfully smacked his brother on the arm.

"Trust me, you don't want to mess with these guys. They grant you wishes, all right, but there's probably a huge price to pay for it." _Like having visions of half dead girls at the worst possible moments?_ Sam sighed, continued reading.

"So you think this, uh, Djinn thing, is somehow after you?" Dean looked at his brother with sudden concern. Not for Sam's safety, in fact, but the kid's sanity. As much as he wanted desperately to help his kid brother, it worried him that he honestly believed in this mythological stuff. There was no such thing as a Djinn.

But seeing how concerned, how _determined_ his brother was, Dean couldn't help but wonder if there really was something amiss. Not necessarily of the supernatural nature, but it was obvious that the kid was upset. But Dean had to admit that he was equally scared to find out _why._ This was the kid he was supposed to protect, in more ways than one. Not just in the physical sense, but emotionally as well. Though he'd never say it directly, he loved Sam dearly, and it bothered him to see Sam so unsettled. Dean sighed, looked up from the picture and rubbed the back of his stiff neck.

"Not sure yet, but it makes sense."

"How could it possibly make sense, Sam? Enlighten me."

Sam cursed inwardly. He'd almost let it slip that he believed that perhaps this new world wasn't real, that he was living his greatest fantasy. Quickly he recovered himself. "Noting."

"Bullshit. I've known you since I was four, Sam. I can see right through you. Stop lying to me."

_Shit. _"I can tell you, Dean, but I highly doubt you'd believe me. Hell, sometimes I don't really believe it myself."

"Try me."

Okay, so maybe he hadn't been so successful at covering up his life after all. Sam closed his eyes, drew a deep breath. Moment of truth. Dean had been supportive in the diner that morning; Sam just hoped to God he'd be just as understanding now.

"Well, this is going to sound crazy…"

"You already said that," Dean grumbled. "You're stalling, Sammy."

"Fine. Here goes. I think I'm not really from this universe. I think I live in an alternate reality where you and I hunt ghosts for a living. Mom was killed by a demon, Dad went to hell to bring you back from a coma."

Dean's initial reaction had been to stare, dumbfounded, at his brother. This really _was_ a little on the crazy side. His brother honestly thought he was from some, what, parallel universe? "Come again?" he asked, one eyebrow arched in surprise.

Sam was about to reply with the answer he had cleverly thought of after he had finally decided to come clean about his rather, well, _unique_ situation, but found himself, for the first time in his life, tongue tied before his older brother. Dean finally broke the silence with a question of his own, posed gently, as if he was afraid of the answer. "What about Jessica, Sam?"

Somehow Dean's big brother instincts always kicked in, even when said older brother no doubt thought he should spend some spare time talking to a psychiatrist. Sam hung his head, trying to hide the sadness in his voice. "She died. Same thing that killed Mom."

And suddenly, no matter how fucked up Sam's story sounded, Dean was at his brother's side, a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and a look of genuine grief in his mossy green eyes. "God, Sammy, I'm so sorry." Crazy sounding or not, Dean Winchester knew his younger brother. He could read that kid's face like an open book; the bitchface when he was pissed off or in a bad mood in general; the puppy dog eyes when he was on the brink of tears; the love and laughter brightening his face when he talked of Jessica; and the grief when someone he loved was taken from him. Dean remembered one time when they were younger, Dean in his early twenties and Sam still in high school. A close friend of his had passed away from a motorcycle accident; Sam had been devastated, wandering around the house, almost in a trance, for over a week. Dean recognized that same look on his brother's face as he talked about his wife, and the life they had missed out on in Sam's other life, or whatever it was.

No, Sam was telling the truth, as unbelievable as it seemed.

"Hey, Sammy," he said softly, and the taller brother (who seemed so _young_ at that precise moment) looked up, as if from instinct. "I know you're probably sure I'm gonna lock you away or something, but I believe you, man."

"You do?" In a soft voice, almost childlike.

"Yeah. I'm your big brother. I'd be a pretty shitty one if I dropped you like…uh, what was her name?"

"Rachel Nave. Yeah, I get it." But Sam could feel a slight grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Of course Dean would stick with him. They stood in silence for a moment or two before Sam finally spoke up. "Thanks, man."

"Well, that's what awesome big brothers are for," Dean smirked, reaching for another book from across the table. "So, what exactly are these things again?"


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I would like to thank BranchSuper, LilyBolt and mandancie for their latest reviews. It's you guys who inspire me to keep on writing! Thanks so much! And as always, I do not own **_**Supernatural,**_** just borrowing the boys.**

**Chapter 7**

**Seven months later**

"_Sammy, you better get your ass down here!"_ Dean's voice was urgent on the other end of the line, but it was obvious that the man hadn't even bothered to try to contain his excitement. Sam rubbed one eye sleepily, staring at the alarm clock on his nightstand; the blue LED numbers read 2:19. "Dean, do you even know what time it is?" he moaned, sitting up quietly in bed so not to disturb Jess.

"_Last time I checked babies didn't consider the time when they wanted to pop out."_

"Carmen's in labour? Isn't she due next week?" Suddenly not so tired, Sam crawled out of bed, made his way to the ensuite and sat on the edge of the tub. He could just see Dean roll his eyes. _"Again, Sam, babies don't care. But the docs think she'll be ready to push soon so you need to get down here NOW!"_

Sam grinned, heart pounding in excitement. He was finally going to be an uncle! Though with each passing month thoughts of his old life seemed to have been pushed to the back burner, the younger Winchester clearly remembered how the possibilities of having a nephew had been practically non-existent. And now, here he was, hours away from being Uncle Sammy. And Dean was about to be a father. _Holy shit…._

"_Sam? You still there?"_

"Yeah, yeah," Sam answered, holding back a yawn. Uncle to be or not, it was still 2:30 in the goddamned morning. "Yeah, just gimme a sec to wake Jess and get dressed, we'll be on the way."

Forty minutes later Sam and a very sleepy (yet equally excited) Jess made their way into Carmen's room, just as the young brunette was caught in the midst of a strong push. Jess immediately was at the young woman's side, holding her hand and coaching her through the pain, but Sam had eyes only for Dean, who was pacing back in forth in the cramped hospital room. When he saw Sam, the elder Winchester finally calmed slightly, and collapsed on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs along the wall. "Holy shit, Sam, this is happening," he muttered in disbelief. Sam gave his brother a reassuring pat on the back. "You're gonna do great, Dean," he reassured, and for the second time that morning, thoughts of his past life flashed before him: Dean practically starving himself to make sure Sammy was fed; Dean helping him out with his homework, sacrificing time on his own; Dean scrounging every penny he had to make sure that little Sammy had something on his birthday, even if it was only a stale cupcake and a few Matchbox cars from the dollar store. No, Dean was going to be a great father, no question.

"How do you know?" Dean asked, and one look at Sam's face was enough to answer his question. "I was great with you, um, _there,_ right?" Sam nodded, eyes threatening to leak, and Dean nodded. That look was all he needed.

XXX

The transfusion had helped a little with restoring some colour to Sam's pallor, but when a few hours passed after the procedure and Sam had still not awakened, Dean could feel the panic build, threatening to overpower him. He needed to keep calm; years of hunting experience had taught him that when one panics a bad situation could very easily become much worse. But Dean had never in his life seen his brother unconscious for such a long period of time; and with no sign of regaining it any time soon. Fortunately, the make shift transfusion had helped to regulate Sam's pulse, which was now beating at a more normal pace. But for some reason, the kid just wasn't waking up.

Again, Dean had mentally gone through the list of possible injuries, ruling them out one by one. No fever, so likely no internal bleeding; no head trauma, infections… the kid had been slightly dehydrated, but forced fed Gatorade seemed to be doing the trick (thank God the kid still had the reflexes to swallow). In fact, Sam seemed relatively in good shape, now that he was no longer having his blood slowly drained from his body. "Fuck," Dean moaned, running a trembling hand through his hair. There had to be something he could do. No way he was just gonna let the kid waste away. Because, as relatively fine as Sam seemed at the moment, Dean knew that without proper nourishment, he would die. He looked down at his unconscious brother; he looked like he could have been sleeping, his tousled brown hair disheveled, relaxed features giving him the look of a child and not a twenty-three year old man.

Dean sighed. He was physically and emotionally exhausted, but there was no way he was going to sleep now. Resisting the urge to succumb to sleep, Dean slowly eased out of his chair, where he had kept vigil during the hours following his emergency transfusion, and limped over to where Sam's laptop was still resting on a side table. Wincing in pain, Dean fired up the device, waiting impatiently for it to power up. It bothered Dean to be searching the web while Sam lay possibly dying beside him, but at the moment, he had exhausted all ideas of what was possibly wrong with the kid. Maybe some of that info on Djinns included something about treatment options. It was worth a shot, after all. Cursing at the horrible WiFi (and chuckling humourlessly at how much he sounded like Sammy just then) Dean logged onto Google and typed furiously into the search engine. He had to find something, and fast. Sammy's life depended on it.

XXX

"God, Dean, he's beautiful."

Sam and Dean were finally alone, after the commotion of the last few hours had died down. Carmen's delivery had gone smoothly, and by 3:14 AM she had given birth to a healthy baby boy, Samuel James Winchester. The morning had passed in a happy whirlwind of emotions: pictures, laughs, tears (well, at least on Carmen's behalf) and hugs of congratulations. Finally, the room was quiet, Carmen sleeping peacefully and the others gone to get a bite to eat, or some much needed rest. Dean was sitting in the hospital rocker, baby Sammy in his arms, a look of love, pride and sheer terror in his green eyes.

"He is something, huh? Pretty long too. Think I'm gonna have a Gigantor of a son, just like his uncle."

Sam chuckled softly, watching his brother carefully rock his son in his arms. This is what he had wanted all his life. To not only live a happy life with Jessica, but to see Dean happy, too. After all the shit that they had gone through in their previous life, the guy deserved a little happiness. To have the wife and child he had never had living as a hunter. To actually _live._ For a moment, he closed his eyes, remembering that afternoon seven months earlier, the day he had first told Dean of the Djinn. Dean had asked about the other version of him, wondering about what he was doing, how he was holding up on the other end. And Sam had lied, telling Pleasantville Dean that the hunter version of himself was probably doing ok. That he was moving on. Deep down, Sam had a feeling that his brother was probably worried sick, but it would be a small price to pay if he was happy. He remembered Cassie, the young woman his brother had hooked up with in Missouri while Sam had been an undergrad; Dean had opened up to her, only to have her push him away. If Sam were out of the picture, then maybe he could have happiness there, too. Sure, to be honest, Sam didn't want to leave his new life, either. And admittedly, that was probably one of the main reasons why he didn't just wake himself up. But looking at his brother, happy for the first time, well, ever, cradling his newborn son in his arms. No, Sam was not going to take that away from him.

"You want to hold him?" Sam's thoughts were interrupted when Dean carefully gestured to him, baby Sammy still nestled comfortably in his father's arms. Sam blinked for a moment, terrified. "Me? God, Dean, I'd probably drop him or something."

"Nah, they're tougher than that. Besides, he's named after you, right? That alone says it all." Dean smirked, and Sam grinned, accepting the tiny bundle and cradling it gently in his arms. The infant looked up at him, tiny gurgles escaping form his little rosebud mouth. Sam felt his heart melt as he extended his pinky finger; little Sammy grasped it, cooing softly. Damn, he was pretty cute. For a moment, Sam opened his mouth, as if to talk to the child, but found that he had no clue what to say. What do you say to a six hour old child? Instead, Sam muttered a gently "hey little guy", caressing the child's forehead with a thumb. Beside him, Dean watched, wiping an eye (was he crying? Was Dean Winchester actually _ crying? _No surprise that the man was trying to hide it. Even Pleasantville Dean thought crying was reserved for life and death situations, no exceptions. Sam quickly looked down, hoping that Dean hadn't realized he'd been caught. Last thing he wanted to do was embarrass his brother. With a reluctant smile, Sam handed the baby back to his brother, careful so as not to wake the now sleeping child. And damned if Sam Winchester hadn't felt a little moisture from beneath his hazel eyes.

XXX

Dean had read through the web page several times, hoping that each re-read would somehow change the text. There it was, near the end of the article, taunting him: _The Djinn prompts the victim to believe it is granting him/her a wish, similar to a genie. In reality, these creatures twist the mind of the victim, prompting them to believe their world is real, when in fact, they are only experiencing an altered projection of what that particular dream is. In order for the victim to escape, he/she must awaken from this alternate reality. Only the victim can initiate the state of wakefulness…_

Dean read the final lines in a low mumble, swallowing the bile he felt from beneath his throat. So Sam had to be the one to wake himself up, and not the other way around. Great. Just fucking peachy. He looked up from the screen, rubbing his tired and aching eyes, watching as Sam slowly breathed in, chest rising and falling in a soft cadence which would have been soothing under normal circumstances. But when were things ever normal for the Winchesters? Frustrated, Dean slammed the laptop closed and limped back to his position at his brother's bedside. Burying his head in his hands, Dean just sat there, feeling a lump threatening to choke him from beneath his throat; he felt so helpless, completely and undeniably vulnerable. Never once had he been unable to help his brother in some form. As a preschooler he had saved him from his burning home; as a young boy he had nursed fevers and soothed cuts and scrapes. At one point, when Sam was about six or so, he had saved the kid from drowning when he had been caught in a strong wave at the shore. And then there was that night at Stanford, the one where his kid brother's world had been turned upside down…

And now he had to sit and do _nothing?_ Just sit there and watch him die? Because Dean knew Sam Winchester. He knew damn well what the kid would have wished for; a life that, if the roles had been reversed, Dean himself wouldn't be sure if he wanted to leave. Could he even ask it of him? To force Sam to leave the one time in his life where he was truly, genuinely happy?

"Come on, Sammy," he muttered, and in spite of himself, he felt a stray tear trickled down his cheek. Quickly he wiped it away, cleared his throat. "Looks like it's all up to you. Don't make me have to go through this alone. It was hard enough losing Dad, I – I can't lose you too." Another tear. Damn, he was getting soft. If John Winchester could see this now.

"Just don't give up on me, Sammy, ok?" Dean sighed, closed his eyes. He had only intended to rest for a minute, five tops, but in seconds, he had fallen asleep. His last conscious thought was of his brother.

_The ball's in your court, kiddo. Looks like it's up to you._


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: So now it looks like everything is perfect for the boys (well, at least in Pleasantville). But rest assured, these boys are Winchesters, and, well, when do things go well for them? Sorry for the long set up, but we're going to see some serious angst coming soon! Thanks for sticking around! I would like to thank LilyBolt and mandancie for their recent reviews. You guys are awesome! Technically don't know you, but love ya like sisters! Thanks also to BranchSuper and niccita for their latest reviews as well. DISCLAIMER: I don't own **_**Supernatural,**_** for entertainment purposes only.**

**Chapter 8**

**Pleasantville, two months later**

"Is this Sam Winchester?"

The female voice on the other end of the line wasn't familiar; and unfamiliar voices tended to increase Sam's anxiety level tenfold. Strangers calling, especially at 8 at night, generally did not bring good news. Sam stood up from his chair, rubbing the tense muscles (the result of three nights of working double time at the firm. The joys of being on the bottom of the ladder. Trying to keep his voice level, Sam nodded, forgetting that he was talking on his cell and the caller was unable to actually see him.

"Yes, this is Sam. Is everything all right?" Oh god, it wasn't Jess, was it? She'd been called in to work unexpectedly, and Sam had taken the car. God, if anything had happened to her….

"No, I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, there's been an accident…"

…_.omigodchristnonono…._

"Is she ok? Please tell me Jess is ok."

"Sir, I'm not sure who Jess is, but I assure you, she isn't the reason why we're calling. It's about your brother, Dean."

Sam froze, his cell phone nearly slipping from his trembling hands. _No. Please no. Not Dean._ Sam tried to speak, but found that no words could come. He simply stared at the cubicle before him, the colourful snapshots offsetting the dull grey upholstery: his and Jess's wedding day; his graduation from Stanford; one of Sam holding a six week old Sammy in his arms, Jessica peeping from behind his shoulder with a smile. And one of him and Dean, sitting on the hood of the Impala, laughing as they sipped ice cold bottles of El Sol. Carmen had snapped the candid photo just a few months after Sam had awakened to this new world, the brothers oblivious to the photo op.

"Mr. Winchester, are you still there? Mr. Winchester?"

"Yes." Faintly, in a voice hardly recognizable as his own. "Yes, I'm still here. What happened?"

"Your brother was involved in a head on collision. He's on his way to surgery now. At Lawrence Memorial."

Sam couldn't remember the drive to the hospital, or the voicemails he left to his parents, Carmen, and Jess. But in fifteen minutes he was standing at the reception desk, looking for someone, _anyone,_ who knew about his brother's condition. After a few minutes, he was led to a crowded waiting room, where Carmen, John, and Mary were already waiting anxiously, Carmen pacing back and forth and trying to soothe her wailing son. Mary noticed her youngest's arrival, and immediately wrapped her arms around him, eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Did you hear anything yet?" Mary, still clinging to Sam as if for dear life, shook her head. "No, nothing yet. Doctors say they won't know anything for a few hours yet. "

"What happened, Mom?" He could barely bring himself to ask, but Sam still needed to know. Needed to understand what circumstances had caused him to face losing his brother. _And especially after he's finally happy._ Sam felt hot tears threaten to overwhelm him, but he quickly blinked them away. Not now. No time for crying. At least, not yet.

Mary Winchester finally pulled away, opened her mouth to answer her son…and found herself overwhelmed with sobs, unable to answer him. Sam immediately regretted the question. As much as he needed to know, he sure as fuck didn't want to hurt his mother in the process. Hell, sometimes he still found it hard to believe that his mother was alive in the first place. He couldn't fall apart, not in front of her. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dean pulled her back into a hug, rubbing her back just as Dean had done to him as a baby. The thought of his brother' simple act of love nearly caused Sam to break down, despite his promise to his mother.

"Drunk driver." Sam looked up for a moment, surprised by John Winchester's voice. In his efforts to console his mother, he had forgotten that he had asked what had happened to his brother. And he noticed just how old his father suddenly looked just then: the greying beard, the heavy bags under his eyes, the trace of wrinkles on his forehead. But the look of grief on the man's face, the sorrow and exhaustion… Sam was reminded of the John Winchester of his other life, the hunter who would stop at nothing to find his wife's killer, even if it meant subjecting his children to the life, to years of shady motels, different schools, suppers from a can or box. This was the John Winchester Sam had thought he would never see again. And yet, there he was, standing before him, the same haunted expression he had seen for years as a boy. _This isn't how it's supposed to be. Dad's supposed to be alive and happy with Mom. I'm supposed to live a great life with Jess. Dean's supposed to be happy for once in his life, to think of something other than just looking after me for a change. This isn't supposed to happen…_

"This isn't supposed to happen." Sam hadn't realized that he had spoken his last thought out loud until he noticed the sympathetic looks from his family. But they didn't know what Sam had meant by his seemingly cryptic words. Had no clue that Sam wasn't even supposed to be here. Fuck, it was unnatural. He should have just stayed where he was, he didn't deserve happiness. Was he cursed? It seemed that the Powers that Be, or whatever, didn't want him to be happy. Because if they truly did, they sure as fucked wouldn't have toyed with him, twisted him and molded him like clay, only to be tossed out in the trash. It wasn't fair.

"I- I, I need to get out of here," Sam whispered, gently pushing Mary aside. And as his family watched in confusion, Sam stormed out of the waiting room, not looking back. He couldn't just sit there and wait for the news; the atmosphere in the waiting room was stifling, suffocating. Sam loved his family with all his heart, adored Jessica, thought the world of Carmen. But they were nothing compared to Dean. Dean, his hero, his best friend, his beloved big brother. Eyes brimmed with tears, Sam rushed to the hospital sanctuary, collapsed on the nearest pew, buried his face in his hands… and sobbed as he had never cried before. He sat there, alone, for what seemed like hours, indulging in years' worth of unshed tears. And when finally he had somewhat calmed, Sam stared ahead at the altar, trying to cling to some hope that his brother would make it. But he knew otherwise. Sam Winchester was not supposed to have happiness outside of a life of hunting. His world was Dean, cheap motels, fake IDs. Not this. Not this fabricated life. This _lie._

"Why, Dean?" His voice was barely above a whisper as he sat stiffly in the pew, hands folded tightly in his lap. "Don't I deserve to be happy? Don't _you_ deserve it? I mean, I thought happiness for me would be a life with Jess, Mom and Dad alive, a successful practice. But, you know, I really think it's to see you happy. Man, you've got a wonderful woman, a kid, a steady job that doesn't involve ganking things." A weak chuckle, as Sam wiped away the tears that now fell steadily and freely from his hazel eyes. "Man, you're so happy here. Why do you want to give it up now? You can't go, man. I can't do this. Not alone. Not without you." Sam paused, closing his eyes. And then, a whisper. "Please."

When Jess finally found him about an hour later, Sam was still sitting in his pew, eyes still closed, as if praying. She carefully sat down beside him, placing one hand gently on his pant leg: the business suit he was wearing at the time he had gotten the call. Her diamond sparkled in the soft light, as if reminding Sam that this was the life he had chosen, the one he had wanted since he was still just a kid. Sam looked up, saw the sadness in his wife's blue green eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sam," she whispered.

And Sam knew, without Jessica having to say a word. His brother was gone. For a moment, he stared at her, numb, even though he knew deep down that Dean would die. That Sam would never be happy in this kind of life, not truly happy. Jess gestured as if to offer Sam a hug, but he pushed her gently away, headed to the sanctuary door. He didn't get far before he felt his knees buckle beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor, sobbing hysterically. He was gone, just like that. His life snuffed out like a flame. "Ohgodohgod… _DeanDeanDean…."_ He sat there, hunched on his knees, sobbing hysterically for several minutes. This time, however, when Jess reached over to comfort him, he allowed himself to be held, crying into her arms, his tears dampening her thin blouse.

XXX

The funeral was rather ostentatious (well, for Winchester standards, or at least Hunter Winchester ones); Sam thought rather bitterly that the Hunter Dean would have laughed his ass off if he were to have witnessed it. Words were spoken, memories shared, flowers surrounded the casket where his brother's body rested. The sight almost made Sam sick, but he wisely chose not to comment. Perhaps Pleasantville Dean wouldn't have minded a, well, _normal,_ funeral, but nothing short of the typical hunter's send-off was what Sam had always pictured giving his brother. It seemed almost sacrilege to see him off to the other side like a civilian. The usual hymns were played: "Amazing Grace", "Nearer My God to Thee", "Rock of Ages." Listening to the sound of the organ in the church, Sam once again felt that the song choice was grossly inappropriate considering his struggles with faith, and that Def Leppard's "Rock of Ages" would be more Dean Winchester's style. Sam sat dutifully, somehow managing to say a few words about his brother…but they felt like lies. Because the real Dean Winchester, the one he loved, grew up with, raised him since infancy, was somewhere else. To describe the one who had made lunch for him while John was on another hunt? The one who had gone to his recitals and sports games, when their father was unable to? The one who had saved him both physically and metaphorically? This was not the Dean Winchester his family knew. And while he loved this version of his brother just as much, had grieved his death intensely, this was not the Dean he really, truly _knew._ But somehow, Sam managed, and seemed to have done fairly well, as his words were responded with gentle applause and knowing nods.

The only thing that seemed to truly say _Dean_ was the wake, complete with mountains of food: cocktail weenies, mini burgers, the typical fare that Dean would have enjoyed. Sam had smiled faintly at the spread, but was unable to keep anything down. Instead he had sat outside on the back deck, thoughts drifting to his old life. He had vaguely remembered reading how he was actually in some dream like state, and that to leave, he would have to wake up somehow. Easier said than done. Not just in the physical sense. Sam was a hunter, after al; he would be able to figure something out with relative ease. But could he really leave this life behind, even without Dean? If he had been alone in this world, the answer would have been "yes" in a heartbeat. No contest. Already he felt that he could no longer really stay, not without his big brother. But could he hurt Jess by leaving her? His parents? They had already lost one son; would his leaving this universe mean that they would lose Sam too? He couldn't inflict that much pain on his family.

But what if this really _was_ just a dream? If that was the case, none of this was even real. No Jessica, no baby Sammy, no law degree. His parents would still be dead, and Dean very much alive. He had never really known his mother, and had been estranged from his dad for years; but Dean, he was his _everything,_ as clichéd and co-dependant as that sounded. He had known Dean his whole life, had looked up to him, and idolized him. The man who would do anything for his baby brother. And Sam suddenly felt a pang of guilt. He knew how, if he were still alive, his brother would be frantic, trying everything to bring Sam back. The younger Winchester knew that only he could be the one to initiate wakefulness, and not Dean. He had been selfish this entire time, thinking only of himself and not truly Dean. Sure, he wished with all his heart that his brother would be happy, truly happy, but as much as Sam had tried to admit, it wasn't a house, kid, and steady job that made Dean Winchester truly happy. It was Sam, his baby brother, the one he had risked his life for on more occasions than he could even remember. Sure, Dean had wanted that life, no question about that, but without Sam, not even that would truly make Dean Winchester happy.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he muttered, wiping the tears from eyes which seemed to have leaked their steady stream of tears more in the past few days than they had in years. He looked up, stared at the back yard where Jess was talking with Carmen, baby Sammy in her arms…

…_Sam is lying on a motel bed, as if asleep, but clearly unconscious. His face is deathly pale. Dean lies beside him, a needle piercing the vein in his forearm. He is violating his no chick flick moments rule as he gently squeezes his brother's hand…_

Sam blinked, the vision strong and incredibly vivid. And any traces of doubt Sam had about where he belonged vanished like the dying remnants of dissipating tornado. Dean was alive, giving his own blood for him. Protecting him as he had always done. _How could I have ever doubted that? How could I have possibly forgotten about the hell he's going through?_ Sam sat up from his chair, his mind made up. Quietly he snuck his way into the kitchen, grateful that the room was empty, and pulled a knife from the drawer. He had remembered that killing oneself in a dream would initiate wakefulness; and as Sam Winchester slowly climbed the stairs to his parent's bathroom, knife carefully hidden beneath his jacket, he prayed that it was true. He willed himself not to give final glimpses to the array of photos on display, the ghosts of happier times (_no, of false hopes and memories_) as he passed through the living room, made his way up the carpeted stairs to the bathroom. And as he closed the door, locking it shut behind him, Sam glanced one last time at the golden band on his finger. The symbol of the love he had for Jess, for the woman he truly thought he would have done everything for. "But I can't do this," he whispered. "I can't live this lie. Not without my brother." Closing his eyes, and praying that he wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of his life, Sam plunged the knife deep into his stomach.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: First of all I'd like to thank klu, BranchSuper, and mandancie for their reviews of my last chapter. Thank you so much for your support, it means so much! Thanks also to those who have followed, favorited, or even just read this story. I really appreciate it! DISCLAIMER: I don't own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. All rights reserved.**

**Chapter 9**

When Sam awakened, he half expected to find himself in a hospital room, his friends and family by his side, the strong smell of disinfectant mingling with the overpowering scent of flowers, and tacky gift shop memorabilia, complete with the standard stuffed teddy bear and colourful _Get Well Soon_ balloons. In fact, when Sam didn't recognize his surroundings, anxiety nearly overwhelmed him. _Where am I? What happened?_ Sam blinked, staring at the dingy ceiling above, yellowed from years of cigarette smoke and the occasional stains from water damage that had obviously been ignored. No, hospitals were never this crappy, even the shitty ones. He closed his eyes, surprised that he wasn't feeling the expected fire in his belly from where he had stabbed himself.

And then, he heard a voice: soft, familiar, overcome with emotion. A voice that Sam Winchester had believed he would never hear again.

"Sammy?"

He'd recognize that voice anywhere.

Slowly, Sam reopened his eyes, squinting in the brightness. He was in a crappy motel room, on an uncomfortable double bed; and Dean was at his side, eyes which had only minutes ago been fraught with worry and bright with unshed tears were now filled with relief. "Thank God," Dean murmured, one calloused hand brushing against first Sam's throat, and then his cheek. "Thank God. I thought I'd lost you, kiddo."

But Sam couldn't reply; just stared at his brother in awe and gratitude. At the man that he had lost, had buried; had spoken about at his own damned funeral. And yet, there he stood before him, alive and breathing and just _there,_ caring for him, loving him, being there for him. The emotions overwhelmed Sam, and he felt that he would have cried if there were any tears left. Instead, he reached faintly for Dean's hand, just feeling the need to hold it and never let go. Yeah, it would be the mother of all chick flick moments, but at the moment, Sam didn't give a shit. He had lost his brother, and had gotten him back. Maybe it had been a manifestation created by the Djinn, but to Sam, it had been all too real. "Dean," he whispered, voice hoarse from lack of use.

"I'm here, Sammy, I'm right here little brother. I've got ya." Dean accepted his brother's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. The feeling of the other brother's grasp was a comfort to both Winchesters. Sam lay there, relishing in the presence of his older brother, memories of those horrible days fading like autumn leaves falling at the coming of winter. It was all just a horrible dream. Because Sam could finally accept that the life of his dreams was, in fact, not what he really desired after all. He loved Jessica with all his heart, dearly wished that his parents were alive and well. But he knew, deep down, that his life was in reality that of a hunter, with Dean. A life where research was spent not on case files, but on Wendigo sightings and vengeful spirits; where home was not a suburban home with Jess at his side and a kid or two, but riding shotgun in the Impala, listening to Dean's off key renditions of "Master of Puppets" or "Ride the Lightning"; where instead of roast beef dinners on Sunday afternoons, he shared cold pizza and beer in crappy motel rooms with his brother, watching cheesy horror movies on AMC. This was his life. And it sucked sometimes, but it was what he knew. What he wanted.

"How long?" In a voice barely above a whisper, but Dean knew what his brother was asking. "About four days," he answered. "God, Sam, you were unconscious for four freaking days and I couldn't do a damn thing about it." He massaged his temple, the ghost of days of stress headaches haunting him. Sam realized just how old beyond his years Dean looked just then: deep circles under usually vivid green eyes, face ashen, a few days' worth of stubble making him look years older. "You wouldn't wake up, man. I couldn't do anything, had to just sit there and hope you'd dig yourself out." He paused for a moment, almost hesitant to ask. "What made you do it?"

Sam closed his eyes, not really wanting to answer. But he was the one who usually was in to the whole "sharing and caring" thing. Had practically begged Dean to open up when he clearly didn't want to. And the guy had just spent days at his bedside, caring for him. Had given him his own blood, for goddsake. He owed him this much.

"You died."

Dean looked down at Sam, saw the pain on the kid's face even now, and simply nodded his head in understanding. Of course he must have died. If the roles had been reversed, it would have probably taken something as drastic as that to bring him out of it too. Without a word, he handed his brother a glass of water, made him take a sip. The kid was probably going to be talking for a while, even when he shouldn't be.

"Everything was perfect. Mom and Dad were alive, so was Jess. We were actually married, and you were my best man."

"Of course I was." Now that Sam was out of danger, Dean felt his usual self come back from hibernation. The one who cracked mild jokes to keep his emotions in check. Dean was Sam's best man at his wedding? God, no wonder the kid wanted to stay.

"Had a good job at the local law firm, too. Paralegal. Shitty hours but pretty good money. And you had a kid, Dean. A beautiful woman and a little boy. You named him Sammy." If Sam had looked up at the moment, he would have seen the wetness in Dean's emerald eyes. But his eyes remained closed, remembering. "You were happy, Dean. And then there was the accident. Hit head on by a drunk driver."

"Jesus, Sam."

"And I kept getting these flashes. At first they were dreams. I could hear you calling me, but couldn't see you. Saw close ups of me, looking like I was asleep. And there was this girl. Brunette, wearing a tank top and penguin sleep pants."

"She was one of the Djinn's other victims. Found her while I was looking for you."

Sam nodded. "Makes sense." He paused a moment, allowing Dean to give him another sip of water; the cold liquid slid comfortably down his throat and he let out a small, grateful sigh before continuing. "Told Pleasantville you about it, freaked you out a bit, but you seemed to actually believe me. Even if you did think I was, uh, what did you call it…"

"'Dingo ate my baby' crazy?" Dean suggested and Sam smiled faintly. "Yeah, that's it." God, his brother was so predictable. He had never realized just how comfortable life was with Dean, how much he knew him. Sure, he knew that he could trust Dean with his life, and vice versa. But their banter, how they worked and lived together. It was a well-choreographed dance, mastered from years of experience. Would he have felt that comfort in his alternate reality? As much as he loved that version of Dean, and vice versa, he wasn't completely sold on the idea that they would have worked together so seamlessly.

"And then I saw this vision of me lying on a bed, and you're giving me a blood transfusion or something. And I…I…well, I remembered my priorities."

Dean looked down at Sam, amazed. He'd had a vision of him giving him blood? And that had brought him back? Swallowing the lump that was forming at the back of his throat, Dean turned away, afraid that Sam would see him cry. After a few moments, struggling to regain his composure, Dean finally spoke up. "Well, I'm glad you did," he said hoarsely. Sam nodded, leaning back deeper into his pillows. He hated being so helpless, but guess that was what four days of unconsciousness did to you, huh? He wanted to keep talking, ask Dean how he had found him, but in moments had fallen asleep. Only this time, when he awakened, he knew that Dean would be there, waiting.

XXX

It was a good three or four days before Sam was strong enough to head out. To be honest, he would have gladly taken a few more days in the motel, relaxing and spending time with his brother. As horrible as the ordeal with the Djinn had been, Sam had admittedly enjoyed the forced downtime with his brother. True, the first day had been spent mostly sleeping, while Dean finally rested his injured ankle and watched daytime TV, but the other days were spent together, enjoying each other's company. For the first day or so, Sam had stared in awe at his brother, still finding it hard to believe he was alive, until Dean told him to "cut it out, for Christ's sake, Sam, you're giving me the freaking creeps". When Sam was at last convinced that Dean was, in fact, real and very much alive, he felt himself relax. Dean had rented some classics from the local video store (_Ghostbusters, Groundhog Day, Caddyshack_) and the brothers had spent many an hour laughing hysterically at Bill Murray's hilarious hijinks. At one point, Sam had dared to break the light mood by asking how he had been found, and Dean reluctantly told the story of how he had found the Djinn's lair and the seemingly hundreds of victims he had found before finally finding his younger brother. He omitted the fact that the Djinn had almost killed him in the process, and thankfully, Sam hadn't pressed for further details. By the fifth day following his return to the real world, the brothers finally checked out, heading to Oregon for a simple salt and burn. Start off small, right? Dean had said and Sam had nodded. In all honesty, he felt good enough to tackle anything, even a rugaru or shifter, not just a simple cut and dry spirit. But to be honest, Sam Winchester didn't really care. Because he was doing what he now knew he was meant to do: _saving people, hunting things._ He still wished, deep down, that he could leave it behind one day, have the life of domesticity he secretly still wanted, but he also knew that, if he were to truly be honest with himself, life was on the road with Dean. And nothing would ever change that.

**The End**


End file.
